


what i'd give to find my way back into you

by hearden



Series: ranger lovefest [11]
Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers R.P.M.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearden/pseuds/hearden
Summary: With the knowledge of multitudes of universes in his mind, Dillon still doesn't quite know everything -- for one, who Ziggy Grover is and what he means to him.(aka a reincarnation-y soulmates au for dillon/ziggy lovefest)





	what i'd give to find my way back into you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> this is a two-in-one: first, a birthday gift for cam (realheroesweartights) who is amazing and deserves the best day today!!! second, because it's dillon/ziggy lovefest month and, shockingly, i actually wanted to write something besides mmpr/reboot for once

He lives forever through the many universes and knows them all. It's a curse that he initially thinks is only for him, but over time, it becomes more clear that he's not the only one going through it.

The first hint is when he's a barista for a coffeehouse called Cafe Grumpy up in Midtown. It's an ironic name for his demeanor, as his coworkers have commented on since he keeps his interactions with them to a minimum. Still, he theoretically knows how to not look like he wants to roll his eyes at every customer who comes in the door, so he plasters on a half-smile and gets his best customer service voice out for working the counter.

There's a guy who comes in with wild, curly brown hair who always rambles on, who doesn't _seem_ to need an extra boost to get him through the day yet here he still is. Most of the faces who pass through blur together. New York's full of people, and he has no business nor desire in remembering anyone in particular, but this guy stirs a sense of something in him. Familiarity but the kind where it's just a stranger on a subway and a weird sense of deja vu that comes from seemingly nowhere. Except this is a coffeehouse and then he's handing the guy his drink and they never see each other again.

Until.

He's in a library, trying to satisfy a bizarre urge to read the most compelling books on robots he can find. It's because he's thumbing through the spines that he doesn't notice a library worker holding an armful of books -- who clearly can't _see_ over that armful of books -- and one collides into the other. The books hitting the ground is embarrassingly the loudest thing he's ever heard. Well, next to the library worker's frantic, "I am so, _so_ sorry--"

"It's fine," he mutters, offhandedly, bending down to help the other guy pick up the books out of politeness. It's not until they both stand that he sees that messy hair and that deja vu tickles the edge of his consciousness. He doesn't say anything, not having figured it out yet, but squints at the guy, who partially shrinks under his gaze.

"So sorry again," the guy repeats then tries to awkwardly shuffle past to keep reshelving books.

He carries that _so sorry again_ in his head when he ends up in a car ridden with bullet holes out of Vegas. If he makes it beyond the border -- _any_ border -- then presumably he'll be safe. Or he'll just die in the desert or something.

There's a hitchhiker, and he almost doesn't stop but the green shirt catches his eyes among the flat, tan landscape. Then, he notices the hair and fully slams on the brakes, screeching to a halt. His shoulder aches, but he refuses to rub it once the guy comes up to his window. Well, there used to be a window there, but it got smashed out.

"Maybe you should keep driving," the guy says, raising his eyebrows at the bullet holes, "I mean, I don't think I wanna get in this car with you if you're getting shot at. This has all the makings of a bad movie going even worse."

He rolls his eyes. "Do you want a ride or not?" he snaps.

The guy considers it for another moment then sighs, "Sorry. Yeah."

They've hardly driven another five minutes when the guy speaks up, and he suddenly wants a cup of coffee.

"So… who shot at you?"

He gives the guy a glance and shakes his head. "Scorpions." Short and sweet.

"Oh, you pissed them off, too?"

Furrowing his brow, he spares the guy another glance. "Too?" Although, he shouldn't be surprised. He feels like a long amount of time around anyone would make him prone to violence, really. And the Scorpions are easy to piss off and this guy seems a little too talkative for their tastes.

"Yeah, I… took something of theirs."

He scoffs, incredulously, and glances at the backseat of his car at the lack of anything the guy had brought in with him.

"Oh, no," the guy says, "I gave it away already. I wired some of their money out to some people I was helping." A chuckle. "I was subtle, too. Fresno Bob's been busy dealing with one of his guys going rogue or something that he hardly noticed I was skimming him."

For the dramatic effect and also because it's a _little_ amusing, he lets a moment pass before he casually taps his fingers on the steering wheel and says, "I was the guy who went rogue."

"Oh. Oh, shit."

He looks over and the guy is poking at a bullet hole in the passenger door. "Don't do that."

"Sorry. Again. Alright, uh, so, what's the plan? Where are we going?"

It strikes him for a moment to be irritated by the assumption of _we,_ but he lets it slide because, technically, they're better off with two heads and if this guy can hack into Fresno Bob's accounts, that's already one more thing that he isn't able to do himself.

He drives until it's not Vegas desert he's driving through anymore but the wastelands of Massachusetts. He's alone in the silence and the loud thrum of his car that's not ridden with bullet holes in this universe but, rather, dust and grime. The air is toxic, so he wears a breather mask because he has no driver's window to protect him. The radio keeps him company, somewhat, but it's starting to drive him insane after endless hours of half static and half the same repeating message about Corinth.

Grinders ambush him every now and then on the road -- not that there _is_ a road -- but he never lets his guard down and easily takes them down every time with moves that he doesn't quite ever remember learning, but they feel right.

In this universe, he doesn't know who he is, but he has a car, a dwindling supply of water, an unhealthy amount of candy in his glove compartment which is his only source of food so far, a pocket watch, a map, shitty compass, and a message calling for survivors to come to Corinth, so a mission. Of sorts.

It's amusing that he hates noise but hates the silence even more, so he drives, hoping that Corinth will be better than sitting in his car alone, waiting to die out here. He needs some symmetry, some order, something that's not chaotic and full of unknowns. A direction to go in.

He stops at a clearing full of debris -- not that that's not _every_ clearing around here -- to get his bearings, check how much supply of water he still has left in his trunk. He spreads his map and compass out on the roof of his car, trying to make sense of it all, when a pressure digs against his back, and a voice says, firmly but not enough, "Hold it right there!" He tries to turn around and almost -- _almost_ \-- smiles, but the guy pushes at his shoulder with his free hand, "Eyes front! Hands up -- hands up where I can see them."

Smirking just a little to himself, he pulls the lollipop that had been in his mouth out and drops it on the ground as he holds his hands up in half-surrender. To humor him.

"Okay, my friend," the guy says, and he almost, once again, cracks a smile, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I'm gonna count--"

By now, he's made sense of the pressure against his back and knows that the guy is faking it. It's amusing, kind of endearing. But, more so endearing for him because driving alone is making his brain bleed out on the floor, and he'd never admit this aloud but another voice -- especially this one -- is a welcome friend.

Not that they're friends. He doesn't know what they are. Hell, he doesn't even know who he is.

"No," he says, firmly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"What 'no'? How can you say no?" the guy fumbles, "I-I-I haven't even told you my demands yet." He sighs, "Now you've made me lose my train of thought."

He continues humoring him, although at this point it's a little cruel. "You wanna start over?"

"No, no," the guy says, hastily, "We'll just-- let's keep going. Uh, I need to take your car. Well, let's say 'borrow'. I-I need to borrow your car, okay? That sounds better."

This time, he _does_ chuckle. "And those are your demands, huh?" He can't really fathom this guy ever working for the Scorpion Cartel.

"Yeah, yeah. Non-negotiable."

He rolls his eyes. "Can I say something now?"

"Sure."

"No."

He wishes he could turn around and see the look on the other guy's face, but tone of voice is still amusing enough to go by. "Okay. That's fine," the guy mutters, sounding frustrated, "You know, see, I wasn't gonna bring this up because, uh…" He clicks his tongue, "It's kinda rude, but _I'm_ the one holding the blaster here."

It takes every fiber in his body to not laugh out loud and just let the guy keep talking.

"Plus, I'm a desperate and dangerous--"

In what universe? "You're not holding a blaster," he says, finally.

"I think I am," the guy persists, "What else would it be?"

"It _feels_ like a four-and-a-half inch outtake muffler," he rattles off, "Kind of like the one you _might_ have pulled off of that rig over there."

"Maybe," the guy's voice wavers a bit, "I mean… That's an interesting theory. But… a smart guy like me, he might, uh, he might _disguise_ his blaster--"

Exasperated, he whirls around and easily breaks the muffler in half with his fist, leaving the other half in the guy's hand, which he quickly drops.

"Wait. Not the face. Not the face, alright?" The guy holds his hands up in surrender and scrambles backward, falling to the ground, his scam undone.

"Any food, water, gas?" he demands, grabbing the guy's bag from the ground and rummaging through it, but he only finds other stuff that's _his_ that the guy must have nicked. Good with computers and hands. Interesting.

"No, that's just, um, some other stuff I was planning to _borrow_ from you--" When he rolls his eyes and turns back to his car, the guy is up and scrambling after him. "Okay, whoa, whoa. Where are you going? You can't leave me here--" He tilts his head as he gets closer to the car and hears the clipped emergency message drifting out from the radio, "Corinth? You're looking for Corinth City. Hm? Am I right?"

He says nothing and stares at the guy, who picks up the compass and waves it at him.

"Yeah, sure, I mean, the radiation, uh, makes the compass all screwy. It messes with the radio frequencies, too. Very hard to find your way. _Fortunately_ for you, I can take you there."

He holds back a sigh and thoughts of regretting wishing he had another voice to listen to besides the emergency radio broadcast. " _If_ you knew where Corinth was," he says, sizing the guy up, which helps because he's a few significant inches taller, "You'd be there."

"I was," the guy says, quickly, trying to stop him from getting back in his car, "I mean, I just was there. Look, I'm serious. See? Corinth citizen ID."

He grabs the ID, half humoring him still and half wanting to know. Curious about who this guy in this universe is. He knows so much and yet so little. "'Ziggy'?" he reads, incredulously, "Your name is 'Ziggy'?" It's… not what he expected.

"Yep, that's me," Ziggy confirms.

He gives him his ID back. "Whatcha doing out here, Ziggy?"

Ziggy laughs, nervously, the first time he's ever heard him laugh. The first time he remembers hearing him laugh, anyway. "You know, that's a long story. I'd be happy to tell you on the way." He goes around to the passenger side and pauses. "Or maybe I could get in and just keep my mouth shut."

"Yeah, the second one," he agrees.

Once they're in the car, Ziggy doesn't keep his mouth shut, but that's expected. "So, you still haven't told me your name yet."

"I don't know," he says.

"You don't know if you wanna tell me your name?" Ziggy asks, confused.

"I don't know my name."

"Well, where are you from?" Ziggy continues, "I mean, who are you, then?"

"I don't _know,_ " he repeats, already irritated.

He sees Corinth in the distance. They make it past the Venjix barricade in broad daylight because he doesn't know fear. He doesn't know _anything,_ only that the universe is bigger than him and bigger than itself and that deja vu has tickled his mind more than once.

"Call me 'Dillon'," he tells Ziggy, "My name. You can call me Dillon."

He likes the way it looks on paper, somewhat symmetrical, double letters in the middle, and the way it sounds on his tongue. And he did say he wanted more symmetry in his life.

 

-

 

Ziggy knows. There's no way that he _doesn't._ Dillon counts on this for sure, but they never talk about it. He's not sure who he is, and he only wants to handle one mystery at a time.

But, there's hints of something that Dillon has to do double takes to catch. Once they form a Ranger team with Scott, Flynn, and Summer, he sees it more clearly. He knows them but doesn't, like he knows Ziggy but doesn't. Dr. K had told them about the Bio-field -- about how it connects all living things to each other -- and maybe this is it, but maybe it's more than that. Maybe it's the universe -- _universes_ \-- pushing him towards his destiny.

One night, he's up working on repairs on his car late because he won't let anyone else touch it even though Summer teases him by walking close to it and he'll glare at her before she throws her hands up and walks away innocently.

"Hey, night owl." Ziggy's voice rings out, and Dillon slides himself out from underneath his car. Ziggy stands over him, holding a cup of coffee. "Here," he says as Dillon sits up, "Thought I should probably serve you coffee for once."

He says it so casually that Dillon doesn't even register its meaning at first. Instead of responding, Dillon just mutters his thanks and takes a sip.

 

-

 

When Venjix is gone and Tenaya is where she belongs, with the rest of them, Dillon doesn't have all of his memories back but he doesn't think he needs them -- in this universe or in any. He has friends, even if he won't admit aloud that they're his friends, and family. Every couple of days, he, Summer, and Tenaya go out and do what they can to find survivors out in the wasteland, people who'd been taken prisoner by Venjix and left to die once the fight was over, and every couple of days, Dillon returns to Corinth alone. He's not too sure because he's not in her head, but he sees the way Summer looks at his sister. It's a little like the way he looks at Ziggy with deja vu nagging at him.

The garage is open when he pulls in, and the lights are on. As Dillon gets out of his car, he notices Ziggy sitting on the staircase leading up to the quarters.

"Scott said you probably wouldn't be back 'til tomorrow morning," Ziggy says, not getting up, "But I know you."

"Yeah, I guess you do," Dillon responds, offhandedly. Now that it's all over and one mystery is solved, he can work on another. "Do you… remember?"

"Remember what?" Ziggy asks, at first, and Dillon's heart sinks. Of course, it'd been stupid to think that this wasn't just all some delusional fantasy. Venjix had probably planted those memories of other universes in his head to keep him blinded by _hope._ Optimism is dead, anyway.

"You mean, do I remember the time I ran into you when I worked at that library?" Ziggy continues, and Dillon snaps his gaze up to meet Ziggy's, "Or the time I got into your car even though you could've been an axe murderer?"

Dillon shakes his head and chuckles, "Which time?"

Ziggy laughs. "You know, one time you shot me."

"Sorry about that," Dillon rubs his neck, apologetically, "You were… kinda turning into a zombie."

"Yeah, just a flesh wound," he jokes.

There's so many times they've met that it would take days to go through them all, and Dillon knows that as they talk, more times are infinitely happening beyond his perception.

"So, what now?" Ziggy asks.

Dillon's not sure if he's asking about why he's here tonight or what they do with this information that's too big for their bodies to hold onto forever. Instead of answering him directly, Dillon sits down next to him on the staircase. "I don't know," he sighs, "Kinda just want to sit here."

"Yeah, I'm cool with that." He holds his hand out.

Dillon stares at it then stares at him.

"What? Come on."

Rolling his eyes, Dillon huffs, "Fine." He slips his hand into Ziggy's and takes a moment to get used to the feeling, finally glad that they got it right.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Start Over - Imagine Dragons
> 
> there's like one implied line of summer/tenaya bc i'm trash for them and i couldn't resist u kno


End file.
